It Never Ends
by Hermione-G-Weasley
Summary: This is a post-Hogwarts story. The trio is a few years out of Hogwarts and very different from when they started. But then again, some things never change... This is rated R for themes of sex, alcohol, and strong cursing.
1. Default Chapter

A/N: This is a new story that I hope will get people interested. It's kind of pointless right now, but eventually (like in the next few chapters) you will begin to see a plot. If you want to read more, please review, and I will continue posting.  
  
Disclaimer: I own nothing here.  
  
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"Mr. Weasley! Will you give us a statement, please?"  
  
The voices of several reporters followed Ron Weasley as he hurried down the street of Hogsmeade. He was used to this behavior, having dealt with it for the past few years constantly. But that didn't mean he enjoyed it. Growing very angry at their pestering, Ron stopped suddenly and whipped around to face the reporters.  
  
"Sure, here's your statement." He watched as quills were whipped out from all directions and ears perked up all around him curiously. Grinning sardonically at them, he said quite clearly, "Fuck you."  
  
He ignored the gasps of surprise as he turned and walked off in the opposite direction. He walked for several more minutes before reaching his destination. The Three Broomsticks was more crowded than usual, and he cursed under his breath as heads looked up from all around when he entered. The whispering that pursued didn't do much to improve his mood as he walked silently to a table in the back corner and sat down beside one of the few people he bothered to speak to anymore.  
  
"You look angry." Hermione Granger was sitting with her legs crossed and one foot jangling under the table. She was sipping on some drink that Ron didn't recognize and twirling a single curl between the fingers of one of her hands.  
  
He rolled his eyes. "Angry's not the right word," he said shortly, reaching for her glass and taking a long drink of the liquid inside. It was surprisingly warm and seemed to have enough alcohol to fix all of his problems.  
  
"What can I get for you, Mr. Weasley?" A tall woman of around twenty or so with blonde hair and turquoise eyes smiled at him timidly.  
  
Ron held up Hermione's glass. "I'll have whatever this is, and bring another one for her," he said as he finished off her drink with a final swig and handed the empty glass to the waitress.  
  
The blonde woman nodded, still smiling, and said, "Sure. I'll be right back."  
  
When she disappeared, Hermione let out a loud sigh and rolled her eyes. "She's flirting with you."  
  
Ron shrugged. "So?"  
  
Hermione rested her right elbow on the table and leaned her chin into that hand. She turned her head and flashed her own smile at the redhead beside her. "She wants your ass."  
  
Ron couldn't help but grin a little at his longtime best friend. Shrugging nonchalantly once again, he said, "Yeah, so does everyone else."  
  
Hermione laughed and rolled her eyes. "You should go for her. She's your type, you know? Tall, thin, blonde. She almost looks veelaish if you close one eye."  
  
Ron rolled his own eyes. "She's not my type," he said decisively. "I gave veelas up a long time ago."  
  
Hermione shrugged. "If you say so."  
  
At that moment, the waitress showed back up with two glasses. She set one in front of Hermione and held the other out to Ron. As he reached to take it, she flashed him a little grin and said, "I'm Mandy."  
  
"Good for you," Hermione said shortly before taking a long drink from the newly filled glass.  
  
Ron tried very hard not to laugh at the look that covered Mandy's face. She looked quite shocked before narrowing her eyes and saying, "And you would be?"  
  
Hermione flashed her a sarcastic smile and stood up. "Hermione Granger," she held her hand out to the waitress.  
  
Realization took over Mandy's features as she swallowed nervously and awkwardly reached out to shake Hermione's hand. "Oh, yes," she stuttered. "Of course." She released her hand from Hermione's grasp and gave them a nervous smile before saying, "Well, let me know if you need anything," and hurrying away quickly.  
  
Ron burst into laughter as soon as Hermione had reseated herself beside him and reached once again for her drink. "I love it when people are scared of you," he said teasingly.  
  
Hermione shrugged one shoulder. "Am I really that frightening?"  
  
Ron took a drink from his own glass and shook his head. "Nah, not to me."  
  
Hermione sighed. "So, what's up with you?" she asked with raised eyebrows. "You came in here looking like you want to piss on the world."  
  
Ron laughed lightly at the once so conservative girl's word choice. Things sure had changed. Answering her question, though, he shrugged yet again. "Same old stuff. You know, the reporters and all that shit."  
  
"Want me to kick their asses?" she asked with a most serious expression.  
  
Ron shook his head, holding back the laughter. "Nah, but you could kick mine if you want to." He turned to look at her and raised a single eyebrow, a mischievous smirk on his face.  
  
Hermione raised a single eyebrow of her own. "What are you suggesting?"  
  
"I think you know what I'm suggesting," he whispered quietly into her ear as he let his hand find the knee of her leg that was crossed over her other one and let it slide deftly under the hem of her skirt, his short nails barely raking against the skin of her thigh.  
  
Hermione stared at him silently for a moment, no expression changing on her face. Then she easily reached for his hand and removed it from her leg. Placing it back in his own lap, she raised her eyebrows and shook her head. "I'm not that drunk, yet, Weasley," she said evenly.  
  
Ron couldn't hide the smirk hiding on his lips. He nodded silently and then stood up and caught Mandy's eye. He motioned for her to rejoin them, and when she did, Ron sat back down and said, "Could you please bring us a few rounds of shots?"  
  
She nodded wordlessly and disappeared.  
  
Hermione laughed and rolled her eyes. "Mr. Weasley, are you trying to get me drunk?"  
  
Ron studied her before nodding once and saying, "Yes."  
  
"Why bother with getting me drunk when a near-veela is practically throwing herself at you, not to mention the fact that I could probably stand up and offer you up freely and probably every woman in this restaurant would jump at the chance? It's just a waste of time and not to mention money because you do realize you're paying for all these drinks, right?" she asked before downing the rest of her current one.  
  
Ron reached for his own drink and turned it up, finishing it in one drink. "I wouldn't dream of having it any other way," he said once he'd swallowed. "And in answer to the previous question, I'm bothering with getting you drunk because you're the only woman I want." He said this quite nonchalantly, and Hermione sighed.  
  
"Why do we keep playing this?" she asked, suddenly serious.  
  
Ron shrugged and leaned in to place his lips gently and quickly below her ear. "Because we both want it."  
  
At that moment, Mandy returned with a tray holding ten shot glasses filled with dark colored liquids. Ron smiled appreciatively up at her. "Thanks," he said slyly as she turned and left the table again.  
  
Ron reached for two of the shots and held one out to the woman at his right. "On three," he told her, and she nodded. "One, two, three." They clanked the shots and both downed them quickly. The liquid burned as it went down, and Ron cringed for a split second before shaking it off. He looked up at Hermione who had an awful look on her face as she wiped her mouth.  
  
"What the hell is that?" she asked, disgusted.  
  
He shrugged. "I dunno. Liquor- that's all that matters."  
  
"Exactly right, my friend."  
  
The last sentence was spoken by a new voice, and both Ron and Hermione looked up to see their other best friend, Harry Potter, standing in front of their table. He was dressed from head to toe in black, and he looked a little intimidating with the black hair to match. Harry grinned at them both.  
  
"Getting her drunk?" he asked teasingly as he pulled up another chair and joined them.  
  
Hermione rolled her eyes. "I think that's his intention. And nice to see you, too, Harry," she finished sarcastically.  
  
Harry flashed her a little smile and said, "I'm sorry. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Granger. Is that better?" He leaned over and kissed her cheek in question.  
  
Hermione just rolled her eyes for probably the millionth time that evening.  
  
"What? I don't get a greeting?" Ron asked in mock-offense.  
  
Harry grinned and winked a little. "I'd give you the same greeting, but you know I can only kiss you in private," he teased.  
  
Ron smirked and nodded. "Right. I forgot."  
  
"Honestly," Hermione said under her breath as she reached for another shot.  
  
Ron and Harry both shrugged as though they didn't know what the big deal was before each reaching for their own shot. "I think 'Mione's getting jealous," Harry said before clinking his glass with the other two and turning it up. He instantly set the glass down once it was empty and appeared to be forcing down a gagging reflex. "What the fuck is that?!"  
  
Hermione, who appeared to have taken the second shot a little easier than the first, shrugged and said, "I don't know. Why don't you ask Mandy?"  
  
Harry raised his eyebrows in question, and Ron answered.  
  
"The waitress."  
  
Almost as if on cue, Mandy appeared at their table. "Can I get you anything, Mr. Potter?" she asked timidly, eyeing Hermione the entire time. Hermione smirked but managed to keep her comments to herself.  
  
Harry flashed the woman one of his brilliant smiles. "Perhaps your name?"  
  
The blonde's pale skin instantly flushed as she quietly answered the question. "Mandy."  
  
Harry's smile widened. "Ah," he said smoothly, "the elusive Mandy."  
  
Mandy's blue-green eyes widened a bit in curiosity. "Excuse me?"  
  
Harry just shook his head in a dismissive way and said, "Well, Mandy, maybe you could tell me what this horrid concoction is?" He motioned toward the remaining five shots.  
  
"Trust me," she said seriously, "you don't want to know. It's the strongest we've got, and I just figured it might be helpful in dealing with." her eyes flashed briefly at Hermione, "things."  
  
Harry nodded and then reached for her hand. "Well, maybe you might be helpful in dealing with things, too," he said suggestively. Mandy blushed even more, and both Ron and Hermione snorted with laughter. Harry ignored them both. "What time do you get out of here?"  
  
"Nine," she said shyly, still blushing furiously.  
  
"See you at nine then," Harry finished with a wink. Mandy bit her lower lip and nodded before disappearing yet again.  
  
Ron and Hermione both instantly broke into laughter. Harry looked at them silently. "Is there a problem?"  
  
"That was the absolute worst pick-up line I have ever heard," Hermione said breathlessly. Then she shook her head and rolled her eyes. "Wait, no it's not. I forgot about, 'I have a really good broomstick. Wanna go for a ride?' That was the worst."  
  
Harry looked curiously at Ron who winked at him and nodded, answering the silent question of whether or not the line had been the redhead's. Harry laughed and said, "That's pretty good. I'll have to use it sometime."  
  
Hermione was looking very thoughtful and then frowned. "You know what? I take it back. That wasn't even the worst."  
  
"What was?" Ron and Harry both asked.  
  
Hermione snickered. "Once when we were seventeen, I heard Seamus Finnigan trying to pick up some Ravenclaw, and he said, 'Can use my magic wand to pull a rabbit out of your hat?'"  
  
It was a good thing that neither Ron nor Harry was drinking anything at the moment because they would very likely have sprayed half the restaurant when they erupted into unison guffaws.  
  
"That calls for another shot," Harry said, passing shots to both Ron and Hermione. "Next time I see Finnigan, I'm gonna have to congratulate him on that one."  
  
Ron nodded in agreement before starting the count for the shots. "One, two, three." Clinking the glasses, all three friends turned the shots up and downed them.  
  
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Two hours and several rounds of shots later, the alcohol was starting to kick in. Hermione was completely gone, and Harry and Ron were both starting to feel the effects as well, though neither of them as much as their female counterpart. She was giggling like mad and currently giving them the play-by-play on every single pickup line she'd ever been faced with and the acts that had followed each one.  
  
Harry and Ron were both laughing along, finding the situation quite humorous. Between laughter, Harry finally managed to get a request out. "Hermione, take off your shirt."  
  
The statement caused Hermione to burst into laughter and shake her head, giggling all the while.  
  
"Watch it, Potter," Ron said in what was obviously his best attempt at being threatening while heavily under the influence of alcohol. He couldn't help the tiny laugh that escaped at the end of his threat.  
  
Harry just raised his eyebrows and continued to laugh. "What? She takes it off for you all the time!"  
  
This caused Hermione to giggle even more. "Shh!" she hissed loudly, obviously trying very hard to keep a straight face.  
  
"It's the truth!" Harry protested. "I feel left out!"  
  
Hermione giggled and let her head drop onto the table in front of her before raising it and looking at the dark-haired man across from her. "You really want me to take my shirt off? You want me to do it for real?" She giggled loudly.  
  
"Hell yeah!" Harry nodded rapidly.  
  
"No!" Ron protested loudly.  
  
"Yes!"  
  
"No!"  
  
"Yes!"  
  
Hermione giggled yet again and shushed them loudly. Placing a finger to each of their lips, she shook her head and whispered, very loudly, "Shh. Don't fight!" They both shut up and looked at her expectantly. "I'll make a deal with you," she said grinning. "I'll take my shirt off."  
  
"Yes!" Harry exclaimed loudly.  
  
"BUT," Hermione cut him off, "not for you, Harry." He looked at her bewildered. But Hermione just turned to Ron and said, "I'll do it for you." She leaned and placed her lips against his. "Later tonight."  
  
"Goddamn!" Harry said in a near shout. "What the hell?!"  
  
Hermione removed her lips from Ron's grinning ones to turn back to her other best friend. "Don't worry, Harry," she said gently. "I bet Mandy will take her shirt off for you." As if to prove a point, Hermione stood up and actually yelled across the restaurant, "Mandy! We need you over here!"  
  
She giggled even louder as Ron yanked her back into a sitting position, on his lap nonetheless. The waitress appeared at their table seconds later.  
  
"Yes?" she asked nervously.  
  
Hermione gave her a friendly smile. "Hi, Mandy."  
  
"Hi." Mandy was glancing around anxiously.  
  
Hermione continued to smile as she continued to speak. "My friend," she motioned across the table at Harry, "wants you to take your shirt off." Harry and Ron both started snickering loudly, but Hermione continued as serious as ever, completely oblivious to the look of horror on the waitress' face. "You should really do it, you know? He's really famous, and he's got a lot of money. I mean a lot." She stressed the final part and smiled back at the other woman.  
  
Mandy was stunned speechless, and she started moving her mouth wordlessly. Harry just laughed and shook his head at her. "Go ahead and bring the bill," he said, trying to get a serious face. "I think we've had enough."  
  
Mandy nodded, still in shock, and left their table once again.  
  
Ron was still laughing at the scene that had just played out, but Hermione actually looked a little worried. "I don't think she's going to do it, Harry," she said gently.  
  
Harry laughed and shook his head. "It's okay," he assured her.  
  
But Hermione just cocked her head to one side and gave him a sympathetic sick puppy-dog look. "Ah, but I feel bad!" Then it was clear that she was hit with a brilliant idea. "Do you want to touch my ass?"  
  
Harry's head instantly shot up. "Yes!" he said just a little too urgently.  
  
Hermione smiled and started to get up, but Ron tightened the grasp he had on her and held her down. "No," he said sharply, sending a very threatening look in Harry's direction.  
  
Hermione sighed and turned her head to look at Ron. "What's it to you, Weasley?" she asked, a bit of the Granger-attitude they'd grown to know quite well over the past years showing through. "You don't own me. You don't even have any kind of claim."  
  
Harry snorted.  
  
Ron just looked at Hermione, though. "But I don't want to share you." He leaned in and placed his lips directly over the very sensitive spot right behind her ear and began to suck very gently. This, of course, made Hermione forget all about the sudden over-possessiveness Ron was showing, and she tilted her head to the side and leaned into his lips, moaning softly as her eyes fluttered shut.  
  
Harry groaned. "Oh, get a room," he said with a roll of the eyes.  
  
Mandy returned with the bill and looked nervously at Ron and Hermione who seemed quite engaged. "Uh, who gets this?" she asked quietly, holding up the paper.  
  
Hermione raised back up and looked between the two men. "Umm. Oh, hell, give it to him," she said while swinging her head backwards in the direction of Ron. "Harry can spend his money on you, Mandy," she said with a grin. "If you take your shirt off." Harry and Ron both broke out into laughter again, and Mandy just swallowed as she held the bill out to Ron.  
  
Ron took out his moneybag and removed several pieces of gold. "Keep the change," he said while wounding one hand with Hermione's.  
  
Mandy looked down at the very big tip. "Uh, thanks," she said still nervously.  
  
"See you tonight," Harry said with a quick wink. "Nine o'clock."  
  
Mandy managed a weak grin before leaving them for the last time.  
  
Ron rolled his eyes. "Well, I hope she's good," he said, gathering up his things and gently moving Hermione off of his lap, so he could stand up. "Because if she's not, 'Mione went to a hell of a lot of trouble for nothing."  
  
"I'll let you know tomorrow, eh?" Harry asked slyly as he, too, got up.  
  
Ron nodded. "I'll call you. Not too early, though," he said with a meaningful glance in Hermione's direction.  
  
Harry smiled and nodded, understanding the implication quite easily. "I should have my phone on me wherever I am." They all used several Muggle appliances, and cellular telephones were ones that they found quite a necessity, especially with Hermione and Harry having grown up in Muggle homes.  
  
"See you then," Ron said with a quick grin as he reached for Hermione's hand and helped her to stand. She seemed to be having a bit of trouble with the concept.  
  
Harry laughed and said, "You're not Apparating, are you?"  
  
Ron shook his head as he wrapped an arm tightly around her waist. "No, we'll take Floo."  
  
Harry nodded. "See you then." And he watched as Ron walked away with Hermione leaning fully against him, struggling under her added weight.  
  
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So? If you want more, please review!!! 


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: YAY!!! You guys liked it! Well, here's the next part. A few of your questions will be answered here and more in the next few chapters. If you want to read more, remember to review, so I know! THANKS A TON!!!!!  
  
Disclaimer: Not mine!  
  
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Hermione woke up the next morning with a horrible headache, and she immediately remembered the dozen shots she'd downed with Harry and Ron the night before. Remembering the shot-fest brought back the memories of the night she'd spent with Ron afterwards. She rolled over and found him lying beside her fast asleep.  
  
And she wasn't surprised at all.  
  
She knew that waking up in Ron's bed had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that she'd gotten herself so drunk she could barely stand. She would have gone to bed with him without a drop of liquor in her, and she knew it.  
  
They'd been playing this game for three years now. The whole "best friends with benefits" thing. It had all started the year after they'd graduated from Hogwarts. The two of them and Harry had gone to America to study at one of the Auror Academies there for nine months. After a night of partying, Harry had disappeared, and Ron had suddenly come up with the brilliant idea that he and Hermione should have a one-night stand. Hermione, who was quite drunk at the time, decided that for once in his life, Ron had been struck with a sensible idea and had agreed.  
  
That had been the night that had changed everything.  
  
It was immediately clear that the one-night stand idea was headed straight out the window. Neither of them were virgins, but neither of them had ever experienced the passion and near chemical combustion that their first shared sexual experience entailed. They'd been best friends for years, and perhaps it was this fact that made them so wonderfully suited as lovers or maybe it was just years of pent-up lust for the other that made that first time so incredible. Whatever it was, it definitely made them both rethink the one-night stand thing.  
  
The amazing sex didn't make them fall in love with each other, though, as might have happened in a Muggle romance novel. They were quite content being friends and only friends. After all, they'd tried to date each other during their sixth year and had both ended up miserable with the situation; dating your best friend is simply not something healthy, and Hermione immediately learned that she should have trusted the millions of Muggle psychologists who point this out at every given chance. They'd broken up and decided that they were much better together as friends than as partners.  
  
But there is a difference between partners and lovers.  
  
They were perfect lovers for each other; it just took them a couple of years to figure that out.  
  
However, once they'd realized this, they were very much eager to get as much use out of this information as possible. They worked out a no-strings- attached sort of agreement and went on with their lives. They dated other people; they even slept with other people. But they were always there for the other whenever needed, and they ended up in bed together at least once a week.  
  
But as the years went on, Hermione started wondering what in the hell ever possessed her to take Ron up on his offer in the first place. She was quite sure that if she'd just told Ron to shove off that fateful night that her life would be absent of at least one confusion. She was sick of playing the game; it was getting old. But she couldn't get past the fact that she needed to be with Ron, the fact that she was now quite dependent on him. And this retched need was one confusion she could definitely have done without.  
  
It wasn't as if she hadn't had enough bewilderments to last her a lifetime. At twenty-one, she'd probably been through more than most people go through in their entire life. She'd been faced with shock after shock when she was younger, and she'd somehow managed to come out alright. She'd learned she was a witch after spending ten years believing that witches and wizards only existed in fairy-tales. She'd learned that the boy who would be her best friend had somehow caused the Darkest Wizard of all time to fall when he was merely a baby, and she'd learned soon after that that the same best friend was still wanted dead by a large proportion of the wizarding community. When she was fifteen, she'd suddenly become an orphan, returning home on her Christmas break to find not one but both of her parents dead- killed by the same people who wanted to murder Harry. She'd found out a few months later that they wanted her dead, too. And when she was merely seventeen, she, Ron, and Harry had nearly lost their lives in a fight against Voldemort himself.  
  
But they'd won.  
  
They'd beaten him, and they had lived.  
  
But beating Voldemort came with a dreadful price. Their innocence was stolen in the blink of an eye, the wave of a wand, the muttering of two words that would haunt them forever.  
  
"Avada Kedavra."  
  
And Voldemort wasn't the only one they focused the words on. Dozens of Death Eaters had died that same night by the same three pairs of hands that would destroy their leader. Whether you wanted to get technical and call it self-defense was beside the point. They'd said the words, they'd waved the wands, and they had killed the Dark Lord himself and a good number of his followers.  
  
And killing someone, several someones, does something to a person.  
  
For Hermione, it had turned her into an overly-independent young woman who had no qualms with literally shooting death glares at anyone who even dared to cross her path inappropriately. The attacks had left her rather void of emotions, and she really didn't care what people thought about her anymore. She no longer bothered looking out for those less-fortunate than her, and the one thing she learned during her years at Hogwarts that she considered useful was the fact that the only people who mattered were her friends. She was quite bitchy to the press, and people were always intimidated by her rather cold-hearted reputation.  
  
Ron had turned into the most cynical of human beings imaginable. He, like Hermione, wasted no energy on trying to be nice to hassling reporters or anxious onlookers who goggled at him. He was bitter, and the only time he even showed the faintest shadow of the funny, witty teenager he'd been was when he was with the two people who knew him best during those teenage years. Harry and Hermione were the only people, save his parents (his siblings could all go to hell), that he cared or even bothered to speak to anymore. His sarcasm was at an all-time high, however; only now the sarcasm was most always mean-natured and never playful.  
  
Harry, who had undoubtedly dealt with the most in his lifetime, looked at the defeat of Voldemort differently than his two best friends. While Ron and Hermione both viewed the battle as a way to show the world that they were forces not to be reckoned with, Harry simply chose to ignore the fact that it ever happened. Well, of course, he couldn't really ignore the fact that it had happened, but he made a definite effort to never really speak about it. He, for some reason, thought that if he completely changed himself that he wouldn't have to live in the shadow of the baby that had been responsible for Voldemort's first downfall. The once shy and rather sensitive Harry, was now the wildest and wittiest of the trio. He was somewhat of a playboy, never spending too much time with one girl but never lacking in that area in the least bit.  
  
The battle had changed something else besides their personalities, too. After defeating Voldemort, the entire wizarding world suddenly knew all three of their names instead of just Harry's, and the best friends were left with more options than they could take. The best sounding was, by far, the offer to study at the Los Angeles Auror Academy straight out of Hogwarts. While Hermione, herself, had never really thought about becoming an Auror, she decided that taking them up on the offer would definitely be a way of keeping the solid front she was showing to the world. Harry and Ron, who had both wanted to be Aurors since sometime during their fourth year, jumped at the chance, too, and they all headed for America. After the training, job offers after job offers came pounding their way, and they soon shot to being three of the highest-paid and highest-ranking Aurors in Europe, leaving them with more power and more money than any of them knew what to do with.  
  
Hermione was jerked out of her silent reverie by the feeling of a pair of eyes stuck to her intently. She turned her head slightly, wincing in the pain that even the slightest movement caused, and saw Ron, now fully awake, staring at her very closely.  
  
She smiled at him, always having been a sucker for the tousled and sleepy look on Ron. "Morning."  
  
Ron grinned back at her and leaned over to gently kiss her temple, obviously anticipating the pain in her head. When he pulled away, though, instead of a morning greeting, she got, "I wonder if Harry's awake yet."  
  
Hermione rolled her eyes. "I love how you wake up naked next to me and the first thing you think of is Harry."  
  
Ron laughed at this and quickly pressed his lips against hers before continuing. "Well, I told him I would call. And I want to find out how Mandy was." He said this with a wicked grin.  
  
Hermione rolled her eyes again. "And thinking about other girls, too!"  
  
Ron scooted closer to her and placed a hand on the dip of her waist. "How do you think it's possible for me to think about any other woman after the night we just shared?" he asked huskily.  
  
Hermione, in an attempt for revenge, closed one eye and pretended to think very hard. "I really don't remember what you're talking about."  
  
Ron raised an eyebrow at her and shook his head in amusement. "Oh, you don't, do you?"  
  
Hermione shook her head. "No, it must not have been that spectacular if I can't even recall the details. I was pretty drunk, remember?"  
  
Ron laughed. "Yeah, I definitely remember. And I also know that you definitely remember last night."  
  
"No," she said rather dismissively. "Not really."  
  
Ron eyed her for a moment before scooting even closer to her and saying, "Well, I could probably spark your memory with a little reenactment if you want..."  
  
He pressed his lips to the crook of her neck and gently nibbled on a bit of the skin there while he let one hand slide up her back as he rolled on top of her, pinning her body underneath his own. She allowed him to nuzzle her neck for several more minutes, knowing full-well that his actions were turning him as much, probably more, than they were her. With a half-wicked grin, Hermione suddenly pushed him off of her and reached around him to retrieve the cellular phone resting on his beside. She held it out to him with a slight smirk and said, "Call Harry."  
  
Ron looked at her as though she'd gone mad. "Are you shitting me?"  
  
Hermione widened her eyes into an innocent impression. "What's the matter? You said you wanted to call him."  
  
Ron stared at her in horrified shock for a moment longer before glaring slightly at her and yanking the phone from her hand. Pushing the first speed-dial button, he held the phone to his hand and waited for Harry's voice.  
  
"What's up?"  
  
Ron shot a final glare at Hermione and turned away from her. "Where are you at?"  
  
"At my apartment."  
  
"Is Mandy there?"  
  
A slight groan was heard from the other end of the line. "Yeah," he finally said. "She's in the shower."  
  
Ron laughed. "What was the groan for?"  
  
"Because she's still here!"  
  
"That's a bad thing?"  
  
"Man, she drools!"  
  
Ron laughed again. "It was that bad?"  
  
"Yes! Every time I went to kiss her, she made this sound like some dying cat gurgling saltwater down in her throat. And she drools!"  
  
"But she was hot."  
  
"Yeah, she's hot. But that's about it."  
  
Ron rolled his eyes, quite amused at the fact that Harry had spent the night with a drooling dying cat saltwater gurgler. "Well, is she leaving anytime soon?"  
  
"Hell, yes, she's leaving soon." Harry groaned again. "I'm gonna make up some work emergency. I tried to get her to leave last night, but she fell asleep and drooled all over my pillow."  
  
"Well, are you coming over here when she's gone?"  
  
It was their day off, so Harry answered with an obvious, "Well, of course." After a second's pause, he said, "Is Hermione there?"  
  
Ron rolled back over and glanced at his bedmate who was looking at him with slightly raised eyebrows. "Yeah. She's being a bitch." Hermione rolled her eyes.  
  
Harry snickered and gave a very sarcastic reply of, "Oh, there's a surprise."  
  
"Tell me about it."  
  
"Well, mate," Harry said finally. "I better get off, so I can get Mandy out."  
  
"Tell him to bring breakfast!" Hermione piped up suddenly.  
  
Ron rolled his eyes and said, "Miss Bitch wants you to bring breakfast."  
  
"Alright," Harry said dismissively. "I'll be over in a few."  
  
"Okay."  
  
They both hung up the phone, and Ron set his back on the table.  
  
"Miss Bitch?" Hermione asked incredulously.  
  
Ron turned over and smirked. "Yes, that's what I said. I wasn't aware that I'd developed a stuttering problem."  
  
Hermione's narrowed eyes went back to normal as she shrugged carelessly. "Well, if I'm such a bitch, I'm sure you don't want me doing this."  
  
And with that, she'd pushed him onto his back and straddled him, the covers falling away from her still-naked body as she leaned down and kissed him forcibly. She dug her short nails into the skin of his upper-arms as her lips attacked his, and then just as suddenly as she'd begun, she rolled off of him and stood up.  
  
"I'm getting in the shower."  
  
Ron recovered from the kiss and looked at her in unflattering disbelief. "Please tell me you're kidding."  
  
Hermione just flashed him a brilliant smile and said, "What? Harry will be here soon."  
  
"Hermione, you cannot do this to me!" Ron said seriously. He sat up and stared at her expectantly.  
  
"Oh, you'll be okay, Ron," she said airily with another quick grin. And with that, she exited his bedroom through the door connecting to his bathroom.  
  
Ron stared after her, not quite believing that she was drawing pleasure from torturing him.  
  
**************************************************  
  
An hour later, Hermione was sitting in Ron's living room dressed in a terrycloth robe with a towel on her still-wet hair filing her nails. She looked up when Ron entered the room, his own hair still wet from his shower. He sent her a cool glare and said, "Is Harry here yet?"  
  
Hermione shook her head, looking back down at her nails. "No, and I'm going to kick his ass if he doesn't get here soon because I'm starving!"  
  
Almost as if on cue, a small popping sound was heard, and Harry Apparated right into the living room. Hermione glared at him. "It's about time," she said sarcastically.  
  
Harry's only reply was a question. "Are you naked under that robe, Hermione?"  
  
The young witch ignored him and grabbed the bag he was clutching away from him and started rummaging through the various food he'd brought until she spotted a fruit cup. She picked it and a plastic spoon out of the bag and tossed the remaining food at Ron.  
  
"Well, you're in a right cheery mood this morning, aren't you, Sweetheart?" Harry asked sardonically.  
  
"I would be in a better mood," she countered evenly, "if I didn't have to wait for a fucking hour on breakfast."  
  
"Well, excuse me," Harry said briskly, "for having to deal with Mandy the Droolest."  
  
Ron laughed, and Hermione raised an eyebrow. "She drooled on you?"  
  
"Yes," Harry said haughtily. "So, forgive me, please."  
  
Ron laughed again, and Hermione rolled her eyes. "Well, you probably deserved it with that horrible pickup line."  
  
"Oh, please!" Harry said quickly. "Your pickup lines on my behalf were far worse!"  
  
"This is very true," Ron agreed. The men had a ten year old habit of ganging up on her.  
  
"Tell me, Ron," Harry said smoothly. "Does Hermione ever drool on you?"  
  
Ignoring Hermione's sound of disgust, Ron said, "No, she doesn't drool, but she does do a lot of other things."  
  
Harry smirked. "Like what?"  
  
Casting a long gaze at Hermione, Ron shrugged and said, "Oh, I'm not one to kiss and tell."  
  
At this, Harry snorted with disbelief. "Right."  
  
"I'm not!" Ron protested.  
  
Harry stared silently at his best friend for a long moment before nodding slowly and turning to Hermione. "Hey, 'Mione. Can I see that birthmark of the half-moon on your lower-back?"  
  
Hermione stared wide-eyed at Harry before turning a very cool and expectant glare at Ron who was suddenly blushing furiously.  
  
Harry didn't stop there, though. He continued with, "Or maybe those three freckles that form a triangle on your..." He was cut off by Ron's hacking cough.  
  
Hermione's eyes widened to the size of galleons before she let out a stutter of disbelief and glared dangerously at Ron. Finally, she looked directly at Harry and said, "No, Harry I'm afraid you can't see those freckles. But don't feel too left out because I know someone else in this room who won't be seeing them anytime soon, either." Then she got up and went into the kitchen to get a glass of orange juice.  
  
As soon as the door was shut, Ron picked a bagel out of the paper bag and aimed it very accurately at Harry's head. "You dickhead!!!"  
  
Harry laughed. "Hey, I was only stating a fact."  
  
Before Ron could threaten Harry with any bodily injury, though, another popping sound was heard, and Mrs. Molly Weasley appeared in the living room.  
  
Ron jumped up immediately and glanced around nervously. "Uh, hi, Mum," he said uneasily, not having expected a visit from his mother.  
  
Mrs. Weasley gave him a small smile and said, "Hello, Ron."  
  
"Hi, Mrs. Weasley," Harry said from his place on the couch.  
  
He was met with a warm smile and a, "Hello, Harry dear. How are you?"  
  
"Good, thanks." Harry returned the smile, very aware that Mrs. Weasley favored him almost to the point of putting him above her biological children.  
  
At that moment, though, the door connecting the kitchen and the living room opened, and Hermione entered. She stopped, though, when she noticed the early visitor. Forcing a smile, she said, "Hello, Mrs. Weasley."  
  
The older woman forced her own sarcastic smile and said, "Hermione." Then she eyed her for a moment before adding, "Perhaps you would be more comfortable in some real clothes, Dear," with fake sweetness.  
  
Hermione glanced down at the robe and forced herself to keep her composure. Nodding curtly, she flashed her own fake grin and said, "Of course," before heading for the stairs with a very sharp and meaningful look at Ron.  
  
She trudged up the stairs of Ron's London loft and flung open the door to his room with an angry force. Shutting it very hard behind her, she turned to the mirror and mimicked Mrs. Weasley.  
  
"Perhaps you would be more comfortable in some real clothes, Dear. Perhaps if you weren't so cold towards people, you would have a better public image, Dear. Perhaps if you didn't spend so much time in my son's bed, you could do something to improve yourself, Dear. Perhaps you could make your mother prouder by waiting until you were in a committed relationship to go falling into people's beds instead of trouncing around like some common whore, Dear."  
  
She groaned loudly, and the mirror replied with a very sarcastic, "Something the matter, Dear?"  
  
Hermione glared at it. "That woman can just go fuck herself!"  
  
The relationship between Ron's mother and his part-time lover was strained to say the very least. At one time, Mrs. Weasley and Hermione had gotten on quite well, but when Mrs. Weasley had shown up unexpectedly one morning and found her son in a very compromising position with his best female friend, the friendliness of the relationship had vanished instantly. Mrs. Weasley didn't really seem to blame Ron as much, though Hermione was quite sure that he got his fair share of, "Really, Ron. How can you even be interested in that little hussy?" But in Mrs. Weasley's eyes, it was Hermione who held most of the blame. After all, she surely must have seduced the woman's youngest son and innocent baby, right?  
  
Hermione pulled out one of the three drawers she kept at Ron's house and yanked out a white sundress furiously before slinging the towel from her hair and shaking out her still damp curls. Then, with just as much fury, she pulled the robe off and yanked on some undergarments and the dress. Slipping her feet into a pair of white slip-ons, she glared once more at the mirror before trudging back down the stairs angrily.  
  
When she got to the entrance of the living room, she saw Mrs. Weasley holding up the current issue of the Daily Prophet and saying, "Really, Ron! What kind of a statement is that? You've been spending too much time with that foul girl!"  
  
Hermione held her head high and walked into the living room classily. Ron looked up at her panicked, but she ignored him. Mrs. Weasley, wearing a sarcastic smile, said, "White is such a lovely color on you, Hermione. Pity it's not practical."  
  
Hermione forced herself not to reach for her wand and hex the older witch, so she simply said, "Yes, pity," with an air of dismissal. "Is that today's paper?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"May I see it?" Hermione asked politely, and Mrs. Weasley handed her the paper with a smug look on her face.  
  
Hermione laughed out loud at the main headline. "Weasley Denies Comment Again." The article went on to call Ron a "clinically depressed individual, not able to deal with the horrors of his past calmly."  
  
"What is so funny?" Mrs. Weasley inquired sharply.  
  
"Well, it's just that these people will print anything!" She laughed again. "If they knew anything at all, they would know that when Ron says, 'Fuck you,' it really means, 'Have a nice day.'"  
  
Mrs. Weasley gasped, and Ron sent Hermione the most pleading of looks. She had expected as much. Ron wouldn't dare say anything against his mother, and neither would Harry. Hermione stared blankly at him before saying, "Really, Ron. Why didn't you just tell them to kiss your goddamn ass, too? Then they really could have had a field day."  
  
Another shock of gasp was heard from the direction of Mrs. Weasley, and Ron dropped his head into his hands. The older witch stood up quickly and said, "Well, I can't stand this horrid language, so I'm leaving. Ron, I expect you by on Sunday to help your father."  
  
Ron looked up from his hands long enough to give a weak, "Yes, Mum."  
  
She nodded. "Right then. Good-bye, Harry." And with that, Mrs. Weasley Disapparated into thin air.  
  
There was a moment of silence before Harry finally said, "Well, that was a friendly little visit, wasn't it?"  
  
Hermione ignored him and glared at Ron. "I can't believe you can be that much of a pansy-ass!"  
  
Ron looked up at her exasperated. "Hermione, she's my mother!"  
  
"I know she's your fucking mother!" Hermione shot back angrily.  
  
"Can't you please try and get along with her?" Ron asked desperately.  
  
Hermione couldn't quite believe what she was hearing. "I've been trying for four goddamn years! I'm not going to stand around and let her talk shit about me anymore!"  
  
"I'm not asking you to," Ron said urgently. He shook his head and said, "But she's my mother! What do you want me to do?"  
  
Hermione sat silently for a moment before saying quite evenly, "Cut the apron strings a little and then ask me that question." She stood up and headed for the door, slamming it behind her as she left Ron's apartment.  
  
Ron had jumped up to stop her, but he didn't get the chance. He stood staring silently at the door she'd just left through for a long moment before turning to Harry, who was looking quite uncomfortable with a silent request for an opinion.  
  
Harry shrugged. Then he gave him a sympathetic smile and said, "Don't worry about it. Hermione'll calm down. She always does."  
  
Ron wasn't so sure.  
  
*****************************************************  
  
So? Review, review, review!!!! 


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Thanks so much for reviewing the last chapter!!! I hope you all enjoy this story!!!  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own anything here...  
  
**************************************  
  
That evening, after Harry had left and gone home, Ron trudged up the stairs to his room. He was thinking mainly of the fight he'd had earlier with Hermione; it was all he'd thought about since she'd stormed out of his flat. Harry had said not to worry; he'd said that Hermione would get over it soon enough and that everything would go back to normal.  
  
But Ron hadn't been convinced.  
  
This wasn't the first time that he and Hermione had fought over the issue of his mother. He wasn't blind; he knew that his mother disliked Hermione greatly and that she had no qualms about making this fact known. But he didn't know what to do about it. It wasn't like he could exactly take sides since the two parties in question were undoubtedly the two most important females in his life.  
  
And it wasn't like he'd never said anything to his mother, either.  
  
He had. In fact, he'd said several things, but every time he mentioned the suggestion that his mother be a little friendlier and a little less cold to Hermione, he'd been met with the inevitable, "Well, Ron, I don't see how you can't tell that I'm only looking out for your best interest. Honestly! What kind of a relationship can you possibly have with a girl who has no more self-respect than she does- throwing herself into the beds of various men who have never expressed any real interest in her at all, much less given her any sort of commitment?" And Ron had grown tired of receiving this response very quickly; there was simply no use arguing with his mum over the matter.  
  
And Hermione...  
  
Hermione was a whole other story completely. There was a time when she would have been bothered beyond belief by the relationship with his mother. Of course, that was also the time when Hermione wouldn't have even considered putting herself in the position to gain that type of relationship. Hermione had changed so much since the time they'd spent at Hogwarts that Ron often had trouble picturing the bushy-haired, buck- toothed, know-it-all who was always scolding him for not doing his homework properly and insisting that he not swear in front of her. Aside from changing physically, and she had definitely changed physically, she was a completely different person on the inside. She was the first one to threaten someone with bodily harm, and her mouth could easily rival his and Harry's in the swearing department. So, the fact that his mother openly loathed her only gave Hermione an excuse to show her sarcastic aggression off.  
  
As he entered his bedroom, Ron noticed the bathrobe and towel that Hermione had discarded earlier still lying on his bedroom floor. He walked over and picked them up, tossing the towel into the laundry basket. He started to do the same with the robe, but at the last second, he unconsciously held it to his face and drew her scent in through his nose. She had the most distinguishable of scents, and he had always been able to smell her on any of the various clothes she would leave at his home. It was a mix of coconuts and lemons, and to Ron, it was the most beautiful and enticing scent in the world.  
  
There had been countless nights when Ron had simply laid awake while she slept on top of his chest. He didn't know why he loved to watch her sleep so much, but he did. He loved the way she made a very soft whistling sound from her throat, and he was always mesmerized by her smell. He could watch her sleep for hours and never grow tired of it.  
  
But now he didn't know what to do.  
  
Hermione had a temper on her like no one else he'd ever known, and he knew this temper better than anyone probably. They'd spent seven years at school arguing incessantly with each other, and they'd spent four years since then having their fair share of questionable moments. Yes, they had managed to mix in their fair share of sexual escapades during those same four years, but these experiences didn't calm the fact that they were still complete opposites and both way too stubborn for their own good.  
  
Everything was just confusing. Every single thing that had to do with Hermione was confusing- from the way her brilliant mind worked all the way down to the relationship she shared with him. There was just nothing simple about her in any form or matter. She was Hermione, and she had to be taken exactly as she was.  
  
The one woman who had the ability to drive him mad in more ways than one.  
  
Did he regret the way their relationship had started? Yes. If he could go back and do things over, he would definitely do them differently. He wouldn't start out the most amazing experience of his life in a drunken stupor for one; he'd make sure that they were both sober before jumping into something as serious as a sexual relationship. The fact that the only reason they'd ever slept together in the first place was because they were both too drunk to think properly instantly lowered the standard of their "relationship." They'd basically used each other to fulfill an immediate need and desire. There had been nothing tender about that first time; it had been urgent and lustful and just desperately needed.  
  
But it had been... There weren't even words to describe what that first time had been like.  
  
He could remember looking into the eyes of the eighteen year old Hermione, completely breathless and shaken after it was over and wondering why he'd never known he could feel like this before. The moment their eyes had connected, they both knew that any and all thoughts of this being a one- time thing were long gone. There was just simply nothing else like it, and they both had an insatiable need to repeat the performance.  
  
At first, they'd both been timid around each other, both wondering if they should try and make something official, something real, out of the whole thing. But the experience in itself was all the real that Ron needed. And he suspected that it was all that Hermione needed, too. Neither of them were romantic and needy people; neither of them was really dependent on anything that a "real" relationship would have entailed. They just simply both had needs, and the other was simply the best person to fulfill those needs.  
  
Ron, like Hermione, had dated his fair share of people over the years, and several different women had graced his bed with their presence. But none of them was Hermione. None of them could make him feel the way he felt whenever he was with her, and none of them knew him the way that she did. He had a sinking feeling that no one would ever be what she was to him. And even if he decided one day to fall in love and get married, the whole thing would be like the old Muggle saying. He'd have that other girl in his arms and Hermione on a pedestal.  
  
And there was just no other way about it.  
  
He finally placed her robe into the laundry and lay down on his queen-sized bed. His sheets almost felt warm, as though she'd only gotten up from them moments before. The pillow she'd used was still engulfed with the smell of her shampoo, and he could still feel her presence everywhere. And he wondered briefly when or even if he would feel her lying beside him for real. They'd fought before, but he knew when she was pushed too far, and she was definitely pushed too far by the whole thing with his mother.  
  
But he couldn't do anything about it.  
  
His mother had given birth to him and raised him and he owed her more than he could ever possibly repay.  
  
And Hermione had been his best friend for eleven years and she'd changed him in more ways than one and he owed her more than he could ever possibly repay.  
  
And he had no idea what to do about any of it.  
  
*************************************************************  
  
Hermione was ashamed of herself. She'd gone home to her own flat, and she had cried. She had cried over the utter stupidity of the whole situation, and she had cried because Ron wouldn't take her side.  
  
She had let Ron Weasley make her cry for the thousandth time in her life, and it disgusted her.  
  
She'd made a vow the day her parents had died that she would never cry over anything ever again. Tears were simply useless things that made one's mascara run. They didn't solve anything; they didn't make anything better, and they didn't cause any sort of pain to disappear.  
  
And she hated tears more than she hated ogling reporters.  
  
But, once again, Ron Weasley had succeeded in bringing the wretched things to her eyes. The first time he'd ever made her cry was on Halloween night of her eleventh year. He'd said something about her, and she'd overheard it; she couldn't even remember all the details or the exact thing that he'd said, but she did remember being so upset about it that she'd locked herself in the girls' bathroom and missed the first Halloween Feast of her Hogwarts career. Since that fateful night, he'd made her cry countless times. Their second, third, fourth, and part of their fifth year were filled with dangerous rows that more often than not resulted in her bursting into tears in the privacy of her four-poster bed. But that Christmas holiday had changed her completely, and she had vowed never to cry again.  
  
She hadn't cried when her parents were buried. She hadn't cried when she'd left her childhood home for the last time to move in with, surprisingly enough, Ron's family soon afterwards. She hadn't cried when Hogwarts had been rocked with the news of their Headmaster's death a year later. She hadn't cried when she first realized that she was either going to kill or be killed. She hadn't cried when an attack on their school had left two of her Muggle-born friends, Colin Creevey and Dean Thomas, dead in its wake. And she hadn't cried when she herself had turned into a murderer and taken the life of dozens of Death Eaters and their leader.  
  
She hadn't cried during any of it because tears simply didn't help anything at all.  
  
But for some ungodly reason, she had picked today of all days to finally break down and cry. She wasn't even sure why she was exactly crying because it certainly wasn't the first time she and Ron had disagreed over the issue with his mother, but it was the first time she had realized that Ron simply was not going to side with her no matter what.  
  
And it had hurt.  
  
It had hurt her more than he could possibly have known, and the fact that he was going to be of literally no help had simply felt like a knife being stabbed through her heart.  
  
She wasn't sure why this analogy had leapt into her head, but she reckoned that a lot of it had to do with the fact that Ron was the one person who was closest to actually having her heart. True, they had established a no- strings-attached relationship nearly four years before, and neither of them had any real want to change this. But it didn't change the fact that Ron was the one person on the planet who she could bare her entire soul to and not worry about him taking advantage of it. She trusted him more than she trusted herself, and when push came to shove, she would give him anything that he wanted.  
  
But she obviously cared more about him than he did for her because there was nothing and no one that she would ever side with against him.  
  
And this, perhaps, hurt her more than anything in the world.  
  
They were more than lovers. They were best friends. Best friends who had been through more together than most people would dare only dream about. They'd shared more arguments, more laughter, more upsets, more terrors, and more life than they had with anyone else- Harry included.  
  
And he just had to be the only person on the planet capable of making her break her promise to never cry again.  
  
And she had cried. She'd cried all day long until she literally had no tears left in her to cry.  
  
And then she had slept.  
  
******************************************************  
  
Pain shot through her body, reaching every nerve-ending and setting her skin on fire. She twisted horribly in an attempt to alleviate the torture, but nothing worked. Screaming was out of the question because making any sort of sound only tripled the pain taking over every inch of her body. She felt tears stinging her eyes, but she mentally willed them away.  
  
She wasn't going to let him make her cry.  
  
She was stronger than that. Stronger than him.  
  
"Where are they?"  
  
His voice was icy and cold, but it made her burning hot with anger. He was taunting her. Taunting her and torturing her...  
  
**********************************  
  
Hermione Granger woke up in a cold sweat, shivering from head to toe.  
  
**********************************  
  
"We've already got the woman. Tell us where he is."  
  
He glared at the cloaked figures all around him. "I'll die before you get them!"  
  
"But we've already got her," they taunted. "She's in more pain than you can imagine, and you can't do a thing about it."  
  
His insides burned with a fury he hadn't known in years. Reaching for his wand, he didn't think twice about his next move.  
  
"Avada Kedavra!"  
  
A flash of green light blinded him, and when it cleared, he was surrounded by five bodies dressed in black cloaks.  
  
All dead by his hands.  
  
**********************************  
  
Ron Weasley sat straight up in his bed, jerking himself out of the nightmare.  
  
**********************************  
  
"We're going to kill all of you."  
  
He glared at the cloaked figure in front of him. "Go to hell!"  
  
The cloaked figure removed his hood to smirk icily at him. "No, that's your destination. Very, very soon."  
  
He was filled with more hate than he'd ever known as he glared at the familiar face in front of him. "I should have killed you years ago!"  
  
He raised his wand to do exactly that.  
  
But the man before him was somehow quicker.  
  
"Expelliarmus!"  
  
And then he was defenseless...  
  
*********************************  
  
Harry Potter woke up and cried out sharply, the pain from his forehead dangerously close to unbearable.  
  
*********************************  
  
SO? I know it was kind of an awkward ending place, but this is all to add mystery to everything that is going to happen in the next chapters. PLEASE review!!!! 


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Thanks for all the wonderful feedback, you guys! It means the world!!!  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own anything in the Harry Potter franchise, but, like I've said before, since J.K. Rowling obviously has no interest in them anymore, I'd be happy to take over. (  
  
************************************  
  
Pain shot through her body, reaching every nerve-ending and setting her skin on fire. She twisted horribly in an attempt to alleviate the torture, but nothing worked. Screaming was out of the question because making any sort of sound only tripled the pain taking over every inch of her body. She felt tears stinging her eyes, but she mentally willed them away.  
  
She wasn't going to let him make her cry.  
  
She was stronger than that. Stronger than him.  
  
"Where are they?"  
  
His voice was icy and cold, but it made her burning hot with anger. He was taunting her. Taunting her and torturing her...  
  
******************  
  
Hermione Granger woke up in a cold sweat, shivering from head to toe.  
  
The nightmare she'd been woken from was still rolling through her mind rapidly, and she had the strongest urge to crawl under her covers and whimper in fear.  
  
But Hermione Granger didn't whimper in fear. She was the highest ranking female Auror in all of Europe, and she wasn't about to let something as silly as a dream make her so upset that she reverted back to the cowardly fourteen year old that she had once been.  
  
And that's all it was. A dream.  
  
Okay, a nightmare would have been a much more fitting description of the slumbering activities, but she didn't have the brainpower to think over such technicalities at the moment. All she could think of was the way she was feeling in that nightmare.  
  
Helpless, terrified, and in so much pain that she could scarcely breathe.  
  
She was familiar with that pain, though. It was the pain that only the Cruciatus Curse could bring upon a person, and it was the worst and most tortuous punishment imaginable. She'd felt it before, when she was merely seventeen years old. A faceless Death Eater had thrown it at her in attempt to save himself from her own hands. She remembered it vividly, and she remembered thinking at that exact moment that she would never, for as long as she lived, ever forget the agony she was in as her body writhed in pain on the cold stone floor that spring night. Pain had shot through her body at an unspeakable and unimaginable rate, and she'd felt as if every single inch of her body, inside and out, was burning with the hottest fire thinkable.  
  
And the Death Eater had laughed when she hadn't even been able to scream out because the use of her lungs put her into even more pain.  
  
He had laughed, and she had vowed that no one would ever laugh at her again.  
  
But in the nightmare, she'd heard more laughing. Laughing at her pain.  
  
And when someone laughed at Hermione Granger, she was not to be held responsible for the actions she took.  
  
****************************************  
  
"We've already got the woman. Tell us where he is."  
  
He glared at the cloaked figures all around him. "I'll die before you get them!"  
  
"But we've already got her," they taunted. "She's in more pain than you can imagine, and you can't do a thing about it."  
  
His insides burned with a fury he hadn't known in years. Reaching for his wand, he didn't think twice about his next move.  
  
"Avada Kedavra!"  
  
A flash of green light blinded him, and when it cleared, he was surrounded by five bodies dressed in black cloaks.  
  
All dead by his hands.  
  
**************  
  
Ron Weasley sat straight up in his bed, jerking himself from the nightmare.  
  
He glanced around anxiously as if to make sure that he was actually safe and sound in his own bed. He breathed an unconscious sigh of relief when he realized that he was, in fact, in his own bedroom and that there were no cloaked figures lying dead at his feet.  
  
Dead.  
  
Dead, and he'd killed them.  
  
Again.  
  
He had done it again.  
  
Ron took a deep breath and tried to shake the image from his mind, but it didn't work. He could see the five bodies lying right in front of him, their cloaks hiding their faces from him. This was the worst image of all; he didn't even know who they were, and he'd killed them. He'd killed them because he had no choice.  
  
Because they were going to kill him. And Harry. And Hermione.  
  
They were going to kill them all, but Ron had acted first. He had taken the lives of five people whom he knew nothing about and whom he'd not even thought twice about killing. For all he knew, they could be high-ranking Ministry officials; for all he knew, one of them could hold the cure to terminal diseases in his mind; for all he knew, they could all have families and children waiting on them to return home.  
  
And he'd killed them.  
  
The image was not going away, but he wasn't quite sure why he'd expected it to. He could still remember the first time he'd killed as vividly as though it had happened yesterday and not four years ago. In a wild attempt to find his friends after being separated from them four hours, he'd run straight into the only room that had any light in it.  
  
And he'd been hit with a feeling he'd never experienced nor even dreamed that he ever would experience.  
  
The feeling of a hatred so deep that he was willing to sacrifice his own youth and innocence to avenge the wrongs that the Death Eaters were doing against him and his friends. The feeling of a killer.  
  
Hermione had been writhing on the ground in front of him. She looked as if she was praying that she would pass out and be taken out of her misery, but some cruel Fate had other ideas. A Death Eater, the one who had put her in such pain, was laughing. He was laughing. At Hermione.  
  
And Ron had killed him.  
  
He hadn't even known he was capable of the Killing Curse really; he'd just felt so much hatred coursing through his veins that he had just somehow known that it work. And without a thought to what he was doing, Ron had whipped out his wand and shouted, "Avada Kedavra!" And the flash of brilliant green light had blinded him for a few seconds, but when it cleared, he had seen what he'd done.  
  
He had killed another human being.  
  
Ron had suddenly felt that hatred turn toward himself; he had killed someone- killed. What kind of a person did that? Was he really that cold and heartless that he could kill someone without even thinking.  
  
He hated himself.  
  
He hated himself, but he wasn't sorry.  
  
And that was what he'd hated the most- the lack of remorse on his own part.  
  
When he'd dropped to his knees beside Hermione, she'd looked up at him with a mix of emotions that he couldn't read. And he was afraid, afraid that she hated him for being so heartless. She was weak, barely capable of speaking, but she managed two words.  
  
"Thank you."  
  
And then she had passed out in his arms  
  
And Ron had cried. For the first time since he was six years old, he'd cried. Not because he hated himself. Not because Hermione didn't hate him.  
  
He cried because he knew that it was the first time he'd ever killed someone, but it would most definitely not be the last.  
  
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We're going to kill all of you."  
  
He glared at the cloaked figure in front of him. "Go to hell!"  
  
The cloaked figure removed his hood to smirk icily at him. "No, that's your destination. Very, very soon."  
  
He was filled with more hate than he'd ever known as he glared at the familiar face in front of him. "I should have killed you years ago!"  
  
He raised his wand to do exactly that.  
  
But the man before him was somehow quicker.  
  
"Expelliarmus!"  
  
And then he was defenseless...  
  
************ Harry Potter woke up and cried out sharply, the pain from his forehead dangerously close to unbearable.  
  
"Oh, God," he panted breathlessly as he took a moment to take in his surroundings. He was in his flat, in his apartment, and in his bed.  
  
He was safe.  
  
There was no Death Eater in front of him, taking away his only means of defense.  
  
It was just a dream. A nightmare.  
  
As another sharp pain hit him suddenly, Harry reached up and clutched at the scar on his forehead. He wasn't used to it burning and singeing in agony; he hadn't felt anything from it in four long years.  
  
Four long years in which he was finally safe.  
  
But he was still safe; the pain was probably just a migraine headache or something. They weren't in danger anymore; nothing was going to happen to them.  
  
It just wasn't going to.  
  
Against Harry's own will, his mind flashed back to the last night his scar had bothered him, the night he was absolutely positive that his forehead was actually going to split in half from all the agony. He hadn't gone back to that night in a long, long time.  
  
He had tried to forget, but, of course, this was impossible.  
  
The images of that night were burned vividly into his memory; he just refused to access those particular images.  
  
But now he had no choice.  
  
He could see himself, younger, smaller than he was now, and he could see Ron and Hermione in the same fashion. They probably weren't actually much smaller than they were now, but the youthfulness he saw in them made them all appear that way. He saw his own terror reflected in the eyes of his best friends as they'd all raised their wand and said the words that had finally brought them the safety and assurance they'd been missing for the previous several years.  
  
"Avada Kedavra!"  
  
And Voldemort had fallen. He was dead. And they had killed him.  
  
They were safe then.  
  
And they were safe now.  
  
Harry refused to believe that anything was happening again; he'd watched Voldemort die. He had killed Voldemort. There was no threat. They were safe.  
  
The dream was just a stupid, silly little nightmare.  
  
The pain in his forehead would go away in a few moments. He wasn't going to duel with any Death Eater anytime soon. He wasn't going to be defenseless against his enemy.  
  
And Draco Malfoy was most definitely not getting out of Azkaban to play the part of that dueling enemy.  
  
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So? Okay, I know this part is shorter than the others, but I didn't want to start in on the next part of the story at this point. I wanted this chapter to be purely about their dreams and their feelings about the past. PLEASE leave me feedback!!!! 


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Well, here's the next chapter! Thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter!!!  
  
Disclaimer: I still don't own anything here.  
  
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An Auror's job requires many things, and being a good actor is one of them. It is very important to be able to hide one's emotions properly in a situation where intimidation is a key quality. Harry, Ron, and Hermione were not the three most famous Aurors of their time for nothing.  
  
They were damn good at what they did.  
  
They had more personal reasons for going after escaped Death Eaters and Dark Wizards than most other Aurors did. Most other Aurors had not been the prime target for the men and women they were hired to capture. Most other Aurors had never faced the Darkest Wizard to ever live face to face.  
  
Harry, Ron, and Hermione had.  
  
And they had all the Auror tactics down to an art. Hiding their emotions from the outside world was one on which they prided themselves. However, the outside world was one thing; hiding their emotions from each other was quite another. They had, after all, been best friends for eleven long years, and they knew each other inside and out. It was impossible to hide their feelings from each other, and when one of them was happy, upset, angry, or worried, the other two could pick up on it immediately.  
  
But picking up on emotions and talking about them are two entirely different things.  
  
When they arrived at work the morning after they'd each been haunted by their nightmares, each instantly knew that the other two had suffered the same sleepless night as they had. However, just as Harry was unwilling to admit that his dream had any bearing in reality, he was also unwilling to admit to himself that Ron and Hermione had been tortured with the same sort of nightmare. If he refused to believe it, then it wasn't real. And although both Ron and Hermione were well-aware that they probably didn't dream what they did for no reason, they were both still caught up in the fight they'd had the day before and not willing to speak to each other about something as serious as those dreams could possibly be.  
  
In fact, when Hermione came into work the next morning, Ron was not surprised when she greeted Harry normally and sent him a glare in way of a hello. He was also not surprised when she completely ignored his own greeting toward her.  
  
Since they were so high in the rankings, they held their own practice with three separate offices for each of them. Their building was on a back street behind Diagon Alley that actually ran parallel to Knockturn Alley. It was a pricey, important looking building for three pricey, important people, and they all enjoyed the privacy it ensured greatly.  
  
Of course, it also gave them the freedom to make rather questionable scenes that a public practice would not.  
  
So, when Hermione walked to the front desk to retrieve her messages from the only other person who worked in their building, an assistant named Helen, Harry looked very determinedly at Ron and nodded. Ron interpreted the nod correctly and knew that it meant, "Go fix it before we have to spend a miserable day with an even bitchier than usual Hermione." Ron sighed and nodded his consent.  
  
Getting up, he crossed the main room and stood behind Hermione as she conversed quietly with Helen for several minutes. Finally, she addressed him without even bothering to turn and look at him. "Ron, please stop hovering over me."  
  
Ron took this as his cue to speak back to her. "Hermione, can I talk to you?"  
  
He saw Helen look up warily; she was able to detect that something was definitely not right between the two, but she didn't say anything. Hermione did, however. She sighed loudly and turned to face him, saying a very simple, "No."  
  
And with that, she stalked right past him and into her private office, closing the door loudly behind her.  
  
Ron stared after her for a second before shooting a very quick and determined look at Harry. Without hesitating, he stalked down the same path she did and opened the door to office, entering without bothering to request permission.  
  
Hermione turned to look at him angrily. "Don't you know how to knock?"  
  
Ron completely ignored her and started right in on his reasoning. "Hermione, I want to talk you."  
  
"So?" She looked at him incredulously. "I don't want to talk to you."  
  
"Why not?"  
  
"Because I have nothing to say to you!"  
  
Ron fought the urge to roll his eyes at her stubbornness. "Well, I have a lot to say to you."  
  
"You've already said plenty," she said sharply. "Now get out of my office right now, or you'll be sorry."  
  
Ron raised an eyebrow. "What are you going to do? Throw me out?"  
  
"Yes," she said defiantly.  
  
Ron actually laughed at her attempt at bullying. "Well, sorry, but I've got about nine inches on you and about a hundred pounds, so I don't think that's going to work."  
  
But just as Ron wasn't going to let Hermione bully him, she wasn't about to stand around and be bullied by him even if he was a lot bigger than her. Reaching for her wand, which was sitting on the edge of her desk, she pointed it at him and made her feelings quite known. "If you don't get the hell out of my office within in the next five seconds, I am seriously going to hurt you."  
  
Ron wasn't stupid; he'd known Hermione since he was eleven years old, and he knew that she was quite possibly the smartest and cleverest witch he'd ever known. He knew that she was more than capable of exercising her threats to the fullest extent. However, he was going to get her to talk one way or another. "If you're going to hex me then go ahead and do it, Hermione, but I'm not leaving."  
  
"What the fuck do you want?!" she said angrily, dropping her wand to her side and glaring at him. "I already told you that I have nothing to say to you!"  
  
"And I already told you that I have a lot to say to you!" he protested just as loudly. "And I'm not leaving until you listen to me!"  
  
Hermione continued to glare at him. "Well, then say whatever the hell it is that you think I need to hear and then leave me alone. I don't want to talk to you. I don't even want to see you."  
  
Ron was quiet for a moment before approaching her with a quieter and calmer tone. "Hermione."  
  
But she cut him off. "No, Ron! I'm sick of this! I'm sick of the bullshit! And I'm sick of you!"  
  
"You don't mean that."  
  
"Don't you dare fucking tell me what I mean," she said dangerously. "Because you obviously don't know anything about me."  
  
"That's bullshit, and you know it." Ron paused for only a second. "Hermione, I care about you."  
  
At this, Hermione let out a very derisive laugh. "You're such an asshole."  
  
"Why?" Ron looked at her expectantly. "Tell me why I'm such an asshole."  
  
"Because you're so full of goddamn lies!"  
  
Ron looked at her as if he couldn't decide what to say next, as if he was completely bewildered by her claim. Finally, he shook his head once and said, "I am not lying about anything. Hermione, I have never lied to you in all the years that I've known you. Every single thing that I've ever said to you was the complete and utter truth, from the good to the bad. It's all been true; I have never lied to you."  
  
"You're lying right now!"  
  
"What am I lying about?!"  
  
Hermione rolled her eyes. "You're saying all this, 'I care about you' bullshit, but you stand around and let your mother talk about me like I'm some kind of whore or something, and you don't do a damn thing!"  
  
"I've told her you're not like that!" he protested at once.  
  
"You just don't get it, do you, Ron?" Hermione turned away from him slightly in disgust.  
  
"I guess I don't," Ron admitted bewilderedly. "Because I have no clue what you're talking about."  
  
She turned back around and looked at him meaningfully. "I would never, never let someone talk about you the way she does about me. And you know why? Because you're my best friend." She paused for a second. "And I thought I was yours."  
  
"You are my best friend!" he said instantly without hesitation. "But you can't expect me to choose between you and my mother, Hermione."  
  
Hermione closed her eyes for a moment and collected herself. "I would never ask you to choose between your mother and me." Opening her eyes, she stared straight at him. "Because I know what it's like to be motherless, and I would never wish that on you."  
  
Ron didn't speak for a long moment, and then he crossed the office and took both of her hands into his own. "God, I am so sorry."  
  
Hermione closed her eyes against he unfamiliar tugging feeling clouding them. And when Ron removed one of his hands and placed it against her upper back, she allowed herself to be pulled to him, and she pressed her face into his chest, one hand still holding onto his and the other hanging limply at her side.  
  
She closed her eyes and allowed everything to wash over her. She didn't know exactly what the apology meant, but she knew it meant that things were fine between them again. And she knew that she could open up to him.  
  
"I had a nightmare last night."  
  
Ron slowly pulled away from her and met her eyes warily. Quietly, he said, "Me too."  
  
Hermione regarded him silently for a long moment, and then she lowered her eyes to the floor. "They hit me with Cruciatus again, and I couldn't do anything about it." Her words were quiet and small, but Ron heard them perfectly. He couldn't think of a single thing to say, though, so he just stared silently at her while she continued with a question. "Do you ever think about that night?"  
  
Ron furrowed his brow. "Then night when Voldemort." His voice trailed off, and Hermione nodded.  
  
"That was the scariest night of my life." Her eyes rose several feet from the floor to meet his own. "It was scarier than when I found my parents' bodies."  
  
Ron's whole inside ached for her pain, and he delicately reached his free hand up to her face and brushed it gently against her cheek.  
  
Hermione closed her eyes briefly at his touch and then let them flutter open again. "Do you ever regret things?" she asked seriously.  
  
With his hand still against her cheek, he said, "What things?"  
  
Her answer was simple and direct. "Becoming friends with Harry."  
  
Ron's eyes widened slightly in semi-shock that she'd asked that question. "What?"  
  
"I love him; he's my friend," Hermione clarified. "But sometimes I can't help thinking that if I'd just stayed away from you guys when I was younger that I wouldn't have had to go through all that stuff." She bit down on her lower lip. "I would never have had to kill anyone. My parents would still be alive." Almost as an after-thought, she added, "And maybe my life wouldn't be as fucked up as it is now."  
  
Ron, not quite believing that Hermione felt this way, looked on curiously at her. "No. I never regret being friends with him."  
  
Hermione pulled away and leaned against her desk, her eyes once again finding a spot on the floor to focus on. "Then you're a better friend than I am."  
  
"Do you ever regret being my friend, too?" He looked at her seriously.  
  
Hermione glanced up and half-shrugged. "Not so much. But it's different; it's not really like I ever had a choice."  
  
"Huh?" Ron was utterly confused.  
  
Hermione predicted this and finished. "When I was eleven years old, you and Harry basically came as a packaged deal. I couldn't be friends with one of you and not the other. But you had a choice."  
  
Ron processed this information and looked wordlessly at her.  
  
Changing the subject yet again, Hermione looked up at him. "It's happening again, isn't it?"  
  
Now it was Ron's turn to glance away from her. He knew what the "it" in question was, and he wasn't prepared to make a declaration one way or the other about whether it was happening again. Instead, he shrugged one shoulder and very quietly said, "I don't know."  
  
"We killed him."  
  
Ron didn't turn his head to look at her; instead he focused his attention on banishing the guilty feeling from his stomach. Then, very, very timidly, he said the one thing that frightened him more than anything else.  
  
"At least we think we did."  
  
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So? Please let me know your thoughts and opinions on the plot and what you would like to see more of or less of. I love feedback! 


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